Daily Life Arc (Future Vongola Edition)
by RubyFiamma
Summary: A series that contains a bunch of ficlets surrounding different occurrences in the Vongola family. They'll include members of the 10th Gen, Varia and CEDEF as well as members of allied families. Basically a daily life arc only less boring, mostly of future fics. Warnings will be provided each ficlet.
1. Mornings Aren't Your Strongest Suit

**Notes : **

This series will contain a bunch of oneshots and shorts surrounding different occurences in the Vongola family. They'll include members of the Varia and CEDEF as well as members of allied families. Basically a daily life arc only less boring, mostly of future fics and probably a lot of smut and fluff. I haven't decided on all the pairings involved yet, but each part of the series will have appropriate warnings.

Consider it a dump of sorts, where I take my half assed ideas and try to make them into something but don't have enough material to make it any good.

**Disclaimer**  
>I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn because if I did, I'd turn it into crack like this. All rights reserved, Akira Amano-sensei.<p>

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><p><span> <strong>Mornings Aren't Your Strongest Suit<strong>

**Pairing :** Yamamoto Takeshi/Gokudera Hayato  
><strong>Rating :<strong> R18  
><strong>Warning :<strong> Blowjobs, swearing, fluff, family fic  
><strong>Summary :<strong> 5 instances of Yamamoto waking up with Gokudera and that one time he doesn't.

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><p><strong>I<strong> **.**

Sunlight is harsh first thing in the morning. Thus, Yamamoto tends to keep his heavy blue curtains drawn in his room. It's even worse after a night of drinking, and then something that you worship can easily turn into something horribly menacing.

He can't remember much about the night before and it's Gokudera's fault, really. He didn't have plans on drinking at Tsuna's sixteenth birthday party but Gokudera and Sempai challenged him to a drinking contest and well, he's always been the competitive type.

He thinks he beat them, but he isn't too sure. Sempai, despite the way he looks, can't handle his alcohol for shit and Gokudera is tiny, but he drinks like a... something. Yamamoto can't really think of idioms right now. He groans and sits up and everything is foggy and hazy. He remembers vaguely that Sempai passed out in the restaurant downstairs, Tsuna went home because he was normal and he didn't drink _at_ _all_. The girls left with Tsuna and after Gokudera got a little drunk, he nagged on Bianchi for making him sick all the time and she got pissed. She ended up leaving with the kids. Yamamoto can't remember what happened to everyone else. He doesn't even remember climbing the stairs to his bedroom and he's in awe that he didn't fall down them and break his neck. Well... when he sees Gokudera, he'll be sure to tell him he's never drinking again. But for now, he's going back to bed. Except he can't sleep.

And so... Hangover city it is, head throbbing and sun glaring and he has decided he really _hates _waking up. That is - until he feels the mattress dip and something shuffle beside him; until he feels an arm around his waist and a grating voice telling him to _close __the __fucking __curtains__, __idiot__._

He hates the mornings until he realises Gokudera has just spent the night in his bed and more than anything, he wishes he could remember how the hell that happened.

**II** **.**

Yamamoto wakes up and the birds are chirping outside. His window is cracked just a bit and the sun filters in through his curtains. He can smell the crisp spring air and truthfully, he is already in a great mood. But then he remembers that he slept with Gokudera for the first time, and he's not talking about just _sleeping __in __the __same __bed__. _No. Sleeping as in _sex__._

Fear suddenly creeps it's way up his spine and dread nestles itself deep in his gut. They're not even dating, not really, and this is an example of why you should never drink at parties. More or less not drink _ever__. _It was Tsuna's inauguration ceremony and Shamal and Dino urged that everyone have a customary Italian experience and Yamamoto happily jumped on that train the second it was suggested. He had feelings for Gokudera, knew that Gokudera felt somewhat the same, but Gokudera's pride got in the way. So Yamamoto needed all the liquid courage he could get.

Well, he's pretty sure he confessed to Gokudera. And he's pretty sure that Gokudera, in his slurred speech and teetering stance, made some sort of committal noise, gave a nod for good measure and then unceremoniously tossed the flute of champagne he was drinking from off the balcony. What happens next is a bit of a blur, but Yamamoto thinks after that, Gokudera attacked him and somehow by some miracle, they ended up back at Yamamoto's place.

The rest is an inebriated haze, but Yamamoto can remember the fire left behind from Gokudera's hands on his skin. He can remember the way Gokudera tasted, salt-flat and smokey and something indescribably spicy. He remembers Gokudera's fingernails raking down his back and he remembers the way his teeth sank into Gokudera's flesh. And he _definitely_ remembers the way his name sounds rolling off Gokudera's tongue, from lax to desperate to shouting and blissful.

He's made himself hard (hard_er_ if you count the morning wood, and now he's just given it steroids of sorts) in this reverie but he can't indulge himself right now because he feels guilty that he took advantage of Gokudera and he's scared that Gokudera's going to hate him for it.

In his bed, Gokudera sleeps on the inside, back turned to Yamamoto. And Yamamoto is gleefully shameless when he cranes his neck to peer over the bomber's sharp shoulder and steal a glance at his sleeping face. It pangs his heart with hard regret because Gokudera looks like an angel. The crease from the constant scowl is smooth, silvery-black lashes brush his ivory cheeks which have just the slightest pink hue to them. His lips are soft and plush and parted just a little and his sparkling silver hair adorns the pillow.

Yamamoto takes in a deep breath and decides he'd rather not be here when Gokudera wakes up. He isn't prepared to get his ass kicked for taking the bomber's virginity, even though he lost his too. He doesn't want to get blown up because well, a lot of his favourite baseball memorabilia is in this room and he'd rather Gokudera not go off on a rampage while including his fire works.

Yamamoto sighs and throws his feet over the side of his bed, discarding the heavy comforter off his body and groaning when he's faced with his naked self and straining hard on. Perhaps he'll drown himself in guilt and lechery locked in the bathroom and do as much as possible to avoid Gokudera. But... He really didn't want to avoid him, he wanted to _be __with __him__._

As he's about to get up, a slender hand wraps around his wrist with an iron grip and a voice that's muffled travels out from underneath the blankets.

"Come back to bed, idiot. It's cold and I want your body heat."

Yamamoto's heart skips a beat and he jumps back under the covers where Gokudera reprimands him for creating too much of a draft but they kiss anyways and kissing then leads to touching and Gokudera's not ashamed or angry when he licks a hard stripe up Yamamoto's thigh and devours his cock in one fell swoop.

If mornings like this were what he had to look forward to, then Yamamoto could spend the rest of his life with Gokudera.

**III** **.**

He _cannot _spend the rest of his life with Gokudera, he is goddamned _impossible_ to get along with or reason with. He's an insensitive bastard and he _hurts _Yamamoto with those glaring and disapproving eyes; hard and sharp like jagged jade. His words _stin_g like the lash of a whip. His punches, his slaps, even the times he shoves Yamamoto are nothing compared to the things he _doesn't _execute with violence.

Yamamoto figures being with someone shouldn't be so hard; if you like them and they like you, then shouldn't it just be smooth sailing? But with Gokudera they fight more often then not and the times they don't fight, it's Yamamoto biting his tongue. He knows the reason why Gokudera is so abrasive, he just wished Gokudera would let him in and let Yamamoto be the one to make his future better than his past.

But, since Gokudera is a cold and heartless bastard, Yamamoto broke up with him. And he told himself he'd stick to his decision no matter what, because (as Haru told him) he didn't deserve to be emotionally and physically abused by someone who was supposed to love them. Well, he didn't know if Gokudera _loved _him per se, he just knew it shouldn't hurt to be with someone that much.

Except when Yamamoto awoke the morning after, he reached out to wrap his arms around the ghost of a body and frowned. Waking up _without_ Gokudera hurt more, and he didn't think that was possible. He felt hollow and empty, like Gokudera's side of the bed and he felt dark and dreary, like the weather outside. There was a sharp pain in his chest, far worse than he had ever felt when he and Gokudera would fight - because he was always there afterwards, wasn't he? Yamamoto knew that no matter times they fought, they could make up and that usually was the best part.

Suddenly it hurt a _lot _and as Yamamoto gripped the navy blue bed sheets with the same agonising ferocity as heartbreak gripped his chest, he decided that waking up to Gokudera was worth every stupid nickname, every glare or scowl, every screaming match, flying fists or tossed fire works - _everything _was worth it, as long as Gokudera was the first thing he saw every morning.

**IV** **.**

Mornings were a different routine for each of them, they learned that when they got their first apartment together in college. Gokudera was a morning person during the week. He was always out of bed at the crack of dawn, flooding the apartment with the heady smell of fresh brewed Colombian coffee. Yamamoto was _not _a morning person during the week. He dreaded school and the monotony of it. His alarm would sound and he'd hit snooze and it would annoy the hell out of Gokudera, so he put it on the other aide of the room, forcing Yamamoto to have to get out of bed to shut it off. Unfortunately for Gokudera though, Yamamoto easily slept through his alarm and unfortunately for Yamamoto, Gokudera would kick the shit out of him until he dragged his lazy _ass_ out of bed.

On the weekends, it was different. Gokudera was _not_ a morning person. Yamamoto would always wake early, draw the curtains and let in the sunlight and chirp noisily or poke and prod until Gokudera threw pillows at him so he'd shut up or got up.

The latter rarely happened though, because Gokudera would just throw the comforter over his head and mumble incoherently and eventually go back to sleep. One time, Yamamoto lied and said Tsuna was at the door and Gokudera jumped from the bed so fast it made Yamamoto dissolve into a fit of hysterical laughter but the laughter was short lived when Gokudera found there was _no _Tsuna at the door and suddenly he had a handful of dynamite.

Yamamoto's gotten more creative since then and he's found the best way to wake Gokudera up is via early morning blow jobs.

Gokudera writhes underneath him, legs splayed and his fingers claw at his scalp. He moans Yamamoto's name, it's rough and paper thin and it sends a jolt right down to Yamamoto's groin. He swears and often falls into his native tongue and when he lets loose, it only encourages Yamamoto; makes him braver and bolder.

This morning, he's got Gokudera's cock between his mouth, working it like a popsicle in the summer heat, and two fingers inside him. Yamamoto uses his tongue to flick over the sensitive head and when he glides his mouth down Gokudera's shaft, he thrusts up with his fingers and hits that sensitive spot in concert and it's the perfect formula to draw long, sultry moans and sputtering breaths from the bomber.

"Jesus _fuck_, Yama-!" he cries when he comes and Yamamoto swallows every drop and licks his lips victoriously. He succeeds in getting Gokudera up but it's another hour or two before they actually leave the bed.

**V** **.**

Marital bliss is different for every couple, Yamamoto has figured this out. Tsuna and Sasagawa look very happy together and they've been married for two years. Most of the time, Kurokawa and Sempai look happy too, but she's just grouchy - kind of like a girl version of Gokudera.

Waking up with an angel entangled in your arms with sterling silver hair fanned out around his head like a halo has got to be some sort of blessing, Yamamoto thinks. What's even better is the gleaming platinum band that's nearly weightless on his finger. He'd never actually think that Gokudera would be _his__, _wholeheartedly _his _and not just tethered by a piece of paper and two rings but by their souls. As cheesy as it sounds, Yamamoto definitely believes he and Gokudera are soul mates and were meant to be together.

Unfortunately, it's not just Gokudera that he's waking up to this morning. He gets a face full of slobbering tongue and Gokudera's groaning, annoyed, and pushing Jirou off the bed. The Akita spots Uri, Gokudera's cat, and chases her down the hall. Uri scrambles and slides on the marble floor in the hallway of their very large bungalow, nestled high on top of a hill surrounded by forestry. There's an echo of loud howls and barks and even though Yamamoto finds it entertaining, Gokudera does not.

"Noisy fucking animals," Gokudera complains as he throws the covers over his head. It's Sunday and of course, he's the last one out of bed. "Go let the bastards outside."

Yamamoto's already out of bed, robe on and laughing and he leaves Gokudera in a heap of blankets. After he lets Jirou and Uri outside, Yamamoto moves to the kitchen to make coffee and contemplate what to make for breakfast.

Being married to Gokudera doesn't feel like anything different but he can't help feeling like he's on cloud nine and beaming with pride every time he sees that ring on Gokudera's finger or when _my __husband _flows so fluidly off his tongue.

He goes back to the room to check on _his __husband _and Gokudera's there with a scowl on his face, silver tuft poking out through the cocoon of blankets.

"I can't get back to sleep," he complains in that gravelly morning voice that resounds deep within Yamamoto's balls and makes his cock twitch excitedly.

"You should get up anyways," Yamamoto shrugs. "I'm making coffee... And then I thought maybe we could go out for breakfast." He edges closer to the bed but his focus is on the large bay window they have that allows them to have a spectacular view of the stunning mountain scenery. The sun is high in the sky and the colours of the trees below are golden and red and it paints on the most beautiful canvas (aside from Hayato's body) that Yamamoto's ever seen.

He's suddenly jerked onto the bed and he's not quite sure of what's happening until Gokudera has him pinned down on the mattress and caged between his arms and legs. He smirks at Yamamoto and leans in for the kill. His lips are warm and soft and teeth are sharp and he kisses Yamamoto fervently. His tongue darts around in every crevice of Yamamoto's mouth and he growls like an animal. He grinds down on Yamamoto and his cock is hard and ready, as much as Yamamoto's own is ready for some much needed attention.

Heat starts to mount and goosebumps spread as Gokudera rubs their cocks together and kisses him breathless. When Gokudera finally pulls away, it's only to lick and nip at his neck and whisper in his ear, "I'd much rather have my breakfast in bed."

**VI** **.**

It's cold outside and there's frost on the windows. Inside their bed is warm, an inviting space that Yamamoto never wants to leave. As much as he knows there is _a __lot _of shit he has to do today, sometimes worming out of Hayato's arms and leaving the sanctity of their king sized bed is the most difficult decision he has to make.

It's not one of those mornings, though, where he gets to decide. The rapid patter of feet barrelling down the hallway has already made up his mind. Beside him, Gokudera groans.

"They're coming," he says in mock terror but really, Yamamoto can hear the fondness behind it.

"Well... It is Christmas morning," Yamamoto says, dropping a kiss on silver hair - which is a lot shorter than it ever has been and Yamamoto prefers it this way, he thinks. It makes Hayato look more mature, more appropriate for PTA meetings, even if Yamamoto's the one that usually goes because well, Hayato still has a bit of an explosive temper.

They're well in their thirties now and Hayato is even more beautiful, if that were even possible. He's _handsom_e, with a long and lean but structured frame and sharp, chiseled jaw and his hair in the front comes down long enough to reach it. The back is short, cut to the nape of his neck and Yamamoto thinks he looks the sexiest in his form fitting slacks, crisp linen dress shits and tailored vests.

He's calmed down some, maybe he's a little nicer. Life has been good to him and he's got no reason to hold on to that angry little boy inside him anymore. Yamamoto's happy that he was able to bring it out of him, tame his storm if you will. He rarely smokes, which puts Yamamoto's mind at ease. He's sometimes romantic, docile and caring and he's (surprisingly) a _really_ _good_ family man.

He's literally Yamamoto's every dream come true.

Their door swings open and there's sudden chaos as Tsuyato jumps on their bed between them, giggling.

"Santa came! Santa came!" he exclaims, wrapping his tiny arms around Yamamoto.

Yamamoto lets out a hearty laugh. "Did he now?"

"Uh huh! Dad, come look! Get up!" He grins wide, looking suspiciously like the younger version of a baseball idiot from many years ago. He slaps Gokudera's cheek with enthusiasm in an effort to wake him.

Jirou trots into the room and jumps on the end of the bed. Gokudera groans and pokes his head completely out of the blankets. He smirks at Tsuyato and pinches his nose.

"Where's my breakfast, short stack?" he teases.

Tsuyato laughs and wriggles free out of Yamamoto's arms and away from Gokudera's tickling assault. "Lavina's making it!" he cries through laughs, giddy and worming on the bed. He's successfully tangled himself in the blankets and Jirou decides now is a good time to get in on all the attention.

Yamamoto bolts up from the bed after giving Gokudera one of those looks because he knows what that means and he's on fire prevention duty now.

"Where's the fire?" Gokudera asks under the pile of blanketed child and dog.

"In the kitchen, probably," Yamamoto says, eyes comically wide. "Lavina's got your cooking skills, haha."

Gokudera and Tsuyato break out into hysterical laughter as Yamamoto runs down the stairs to find their daughter, Lavina, standing in the kitchen looking like a deer caught in headlights right next to a smoking toaster.

"I tried making breakfast for you guys," she says solemnly but she wears a scowl just like her father's. "I don't understand this. If I set the dial to this setting and set the bread in the toaster at that angle -" She demonstrates by moving her hands in various angles and Yamamoto can't help but smile.

"It's pretty easy, haha. I'll show you but... How about we do that later...? Tsuyato says Santa came. Don't you want to open your presents?"

Lavina rolls her eyes. Nine years old going on thirty, that's the way Bianchi describes her.

"Dad says Santa is corporate America's way of -"

"Lavina," Yamamoto sighs while pinching the bridge of his nose. "Please don't say things like that in front of your brother, okay? And don't listen to your father when he says cynical things like that, haha."

Lavina, bright and wide hazel eyes and flowing silver hair, frowns and then runs to Yamamoto and wraps her arms around his legs. She squeezes and sighs. "Sorry, Daddy... I won't say anything to Tsu."

"Say what to me?" Tsuyato asks, barging into the kitchen with Gokudera in tow. He's five and will stay five because Gokudera and Yamamoto both agree they don't want him to grow up as Lavina is already too mature for her age. He's got wide green eyes and dark, unruly hair with a silver streak running through it. Shamal says it's poliosis and that he's lucky he didn't end up with something more severe that's often associated with that absence of melanoma in his hair. Yamamoto doesn't like to think of something that scary so he's convinced himself that it's a streak of Hayato's silver hair.

Lavina nearly spills the beans and Hayato doesn't help because he's right there to back her up and Yamamoto has to laugh loudly and shoo his family into the living room, where there's a grand Colorado Blue Spruce decorated by the kids (and then later rearranged by Hayato) and Christmas presents literally _everywhere_.

No one would believe Yamamoto if he said anything but Gokudera around kids is like a big kid himself. He and Tsuyato dive into the pile of presents and begin rifling through them while Lavina hangs eagerly off the arm of the couch.

Yamamoto smiles to himself, taking a look outside where the lawn and trees are blanketed in fresh white snow. He thinks about all the mornings he's spent with Gokudera, and he's got to say that this little domesticated slice of life right here definitely takes the cake.


	2. Weaved As If It Were Destiny

This series will contain a bunch of one shots and shorts surrounding different occurrences in the Vongola family. They'll include members of the Varia and CEDEF as well as members of allied families. Basically a daily life arc only less boring, mostly of future fics and probably a lot of smut and fluff. I haven't decided on all the pairings involved yet, but each part of the series will have appropriate warnings.

Consider it a dump of sorts, where I take my half assed ideas and try to make them into something but don't have enough material to make it any good.

**Disclaimer**  
>I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn because if I did, I'd turn it into crack like this. All rights reserved, Akira Amano-sensei.<p>

**Pairing : **Lambo Bovino/I-Pin  
><strong>Rating : <strong>T+  
><strong>Warning :<strong> Fluff, family fic, future fic, Premonition!verse  
><strong>Summary : <strong>In which Lambo demonstrates just how much he's grown up by offering I-Pin some spiritual insight.

Part of the Premonition!verse series "All the Little Things"

If you haven't read Premonition, then just go with the flow.

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><p><span><strong>Weaved As If It Were Destiny<strong>

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><p>The resounding <em>tick <em>_tock__, __tick __tock _of the wall clock gets louder and louder as the time of his arrival gets closer and closer.

He's been gone for too long, and she worries because she knows he can be a little hot headed. Nothing like Gokudera-san, but he does take after him to an extent.

With each tick, fear knots in her stomach because she wonders if this is the day she'll get the Guardians coming to her door instead of him. The day she'll have to explain to their two year old son, Lèi Fēng, that his _bà _won't be coming home this time - or any other time.

She was once rated the world's third most promising young assassin and she was once the Vongola's most _deadly _assassin, coming before the likes of Hibari Kyoya and Yamamoto Takeshi. It wasn't because she wanted to hurt and kill people, because her master Fon taught her how to incapacitate without killing; she took Reborn and Tsuna's offer so that she could keep an eye on _him__._

On the floor in the living room, Lèi Fēng builds a tower out of wooden blocks while he babbles to himself gleefully. I-Pin shifts uncomfortably in her seat and watches the hands on the clock tick mercilessly closer and closer and that's when she hears the scrape and click of the lock and she resists the urge to jump out of her seat and leap over the furniture and fly into a long awaited embrace.

Lèi Fēng looks up and it's like he knows who's at the door because he's up and chanting and clapping his hands excitedly.

And when that door opens and I-Pin sees that it's him - really _him__, _she breathes a wet, sobbing of relief because he's been gone for _so __long__._

Lambo crosses the threshold and the first thing I-Pin notices is that his clothes are rumpled and soiled, he looks like he's been wearing them for days. His face is streaked with grime and dirt and there's a smear of crusted maroon on his cheek. His hair is tangled and mussed, frayed and frizzy and he looks _s__o __tired._

Before he raises his eyes to I-Pin, they fall on Lèi Fēng and a warm smile spreads across his face when the small boy waddles over to him, arms outstretched and crooning "_Bà... B__à_."

Lambo kneels and opens his arms, welcoming Lèi Fēng and he scoops him up in one fell swoop. He squeezes the boy, like a childhood stuffed animal, nuzzling his nose in Lèi Fēng's dark, unruly hair. I-Pin can see him inhale, she watches the relief wash over his face like he himself believed that maybe _this __time _he wasn't coming home.

"Daddy _missed _you," Lambo says, his voice strained and wavering. After a heavy sigh, Lambo sets the child down and makes his way over, and I-Pin feels her heart fluttering in her chest, amazed that Lambo can make her feel this way still after all these years.

It had started off as a friendship, more of a sibling bond than anything. I-Pin was always looking after Lambo, making sure he kept in line, right up until he grew up and began looking after _her__._ She can't exactly say when she fell for him, maybe the feelings had always been there, just never hit the surface until the first mission he had been sent on when he was fifteen and all of Vongola was in an uproar, at war with the Russian Mafia and Gokudera had gone missing and everything was a mess. The day he had gotten shot was the day I-Pin thought her world couldn't get any smaller because she realised whatever her world was, it was only Lambo.

Looking up at him from her spot at the dining room table, I-Pin realises that he is still her world but now it's not just him, it's Lèi Fēng and Bianchi and Kyoko and Haru and Nana and the rest of the Vongola family - _her _family.

Lambo leans in and kisses her, soft and chaste and a smile splays her lips when she can taste the remnants of his favourite grape candies off his lips. His fingers slide up her cheek and find purchase in her hair that happens to not be in it's usual braids. His lips touch hers again, this time long pressed and a little desperate and his tongue fans out across her bottom lip. I-Pin grins into the kiss and wraps her arms around Lambo's neck and presses her mouth harder against his, her tongue finding his and languidly roping with it. The inside of Lambo's mouth is saccharine sweet, rich tang with grape and sugar.

She pulls away with a need to breathe and soaks in the sight of him. His green eyes dance with playfulness despite the dark and heavy bags underneath him.

"Lambo, you're dirty!" she scolds amiably.

Lambo laughs, it's hearty and sincere. "My, my. Always so charming." He rests his forehead against hers and heaves a mournful sigh.

"Lambo?"

"It's nothing," he says with a short laugh. "I'm just... so glad to be home."

"You're not going to cry, are you?" I-Pin teases, prodding at his shoulder.

"Maybe," Lambo laughs.

I-Pin smiles and strokes his cheek, brushes off some of that crusted blood with her thumb. "Why don't you go have a bath and I'll make some tea."

"That sounds really good."

I-Pin tangles her fingers in Lambo's hair and slides them down the longer strands, frowning. "Your braids fell out."

Lambo straightens and looks over his shoulder, smiles at his son playing on the carpet and turns back to I-Pin, smile fallen from his face. "I am really sorry I came home like this. Gokudera-shi told me to go straight home once we got back so I did. Not that I didn't want to but-"

I-Pin stands and finally wraps her arms around Lambo in the air tight embrace she's been wanting to give him since he walked through the door. "Shh, Lambo. It's okay. I'm just really happy that you're home. We missed you."

"My, my. You're not going to cry, are you?" he mocks, stroking her hair.

"Maybe," she echoes, laughing.

"You can fix them when I get out of the shower, like you always do," Lambo says, kissing the top of her head. It's a long way down, she hasn't grown much and only comes up to Lambo's chest. Sometimes it's hard to believe this is the same person who ran around crying when he didn't get his way, stole candy and food from her any chance that he got and fought constantly with Gokudera-san, to whom he looks up to like a brother now.

"I will," I-Pin says with a smile.

* * *

><p>Lèi Fēng sleeps, his mass of hair fanned out around his head like raven feathers with long plaits wrapped in jade beads, I-Pin sits beside him on the sofa with Lambo situated between her thighs. His long legs stretch out on the carpet, his socked feet toeing the blocks I-Pin has yet to clean up.<p>

She combs his damp hair, the fruity scent of their shampoo wafts up to her nose and she smiles. It's a nostalgic smell, something like home and warmth and security.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, when the long silence hangs almost stagnant in the air.

Lambo gives her calf a gentle squeeze. "Do you want to hear about it?"

"I do if you want to tell me." She doesn't hesitate or take time to consider it, I-Pin may not work for the mafia anymore but that doesn't mean she isn't there for Lambo when he needs to get the horrors he's been through off his chest.

I-Pin takes one of the longer strands of Lambo's hair in her fingers and separates them into three sections and begins layering them, crossing each strand over and under.

Lambo sighs and rests his head on her knee. "Perhaps tomorrow, after a long night's sleep with you by my side."

"Lambo," I-Pin warns, tugging at the braid. "I can't finish them when you're like this."

"My, my. Alright. I was enjoying the comfort of your bony knee for a moment."

"Lambo!" I-Pin gapes, slapping Lambo in the head lightly while he laughs.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I do rather enjoy this," he says, gesturing to his hair. He looks up at her and grins, one eye closed because of an injury when he was thirteen. A stupid injury caused by Lambo himself in one of his numerous thoughtless moments.

I-Pin relents and leans in, kisses him open mouthed. "I do too," she says after their long and languid kiss. "But I like cuddling with you more, so let's finish this and go to bed."

A crooked smirk and devious glint play at Lambo's features and he angles his head so that I-Pin can finish braiding his hair. "My, my... I've got no complaints about that."

I-Pin gives his head another tap for good measure and they both laugh. It feels so _right _to do this with Lambo - their normal routine -, it's like old times when they were young and carefree and didn't have to worry so much.

"You know," Lambo begins when I-Pin is on the last braid, "I'm really glad I came to Japan when I did, even if it was for a childish reason."

"Oh?" I-Pin asks, already knowing where this is leading but acts like she doesn't just to hear the sound of Lambo's velvety smooth voice.

"Mm... I think... I think that we met because of fate."

"Fate? I didn't think you believed in that kind of thing," I-Pin jokes.

'Yes... I am Italian, you know. There's that whole divine intervention thing," Lambo says, waving a dismissive hand.

"So what are you trying to say?" asks I-Pin, wrapping the elastic around the end of the braid.

"I'm saying that perhaps it was destiny that we all met, that Vongola decided to take care of me even when I was a brat and that I became a Guardian and Gokudera-shi taught me how to grow up. All of it prepared me to be a better man for you... and for Lèi Fēng." Lambo turned around full circle in between I-Pin's legs and rested a hand on her cheek.

I-Pin lay her hand over his, feeling tears brimming in the wells of her eyes. It was silly really, that she's even crying over something like this, but it's still really hard to believe this is the same Lambo that picked his nose and screeched for takoyaki, broke things and blew things up. The same Lambo that was selfish and spoiled and clumsy.

She smiled when he smiled and choked on a laugh when a tear rolled down her cheek. _So __embarrassing__, __honestly__._

"My, my. I didn't mean to make you cry."

I-Pin laughs. Sometimes it's hard to believe that Lambo can actually be _serious__. _"I'm not crying, idiot."

"I'm just saying... All the events leading up to now. It's funny how they've weaved together to make this kind of future."

I-Pin studied the braid in her hand and thought about everything in her life that's led up to this moment, all paths she took led her to _this __future__._

And sometimes, she forgets that Lambo can actually make sense.


	3. Smile, For It's a Beautiful Life

**Pairing : **Yamamoto Takeshi/Gokudera Hayato

**Fandom : **Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

**Rating : **G

**Warnings : **Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Future Fic, Babies, Established Relationship, Kissing

**Summary : **Gokudera and Yamamoto are just two happily married dorks that take their relationship to the next level.

**Notes : **

I really just wrote this to satisfy my own excessive and exaggerated need to have these dorks have some babies because I have a **weakness** and I'm not ashamed. Just a little obsessive.

By the way, I don't do mpreg and I've heard about this research with stem cells that could possibly allow gay couples to have biological children containing both parents DNA, so seeing as how it's in the future and (hc that Shamal and Verde worked together on advancing the technology) it's fiction, this is how they had their baby.

**Disclaimer**  
>I wish I owned them so<em> bad<em> so I could just make everything perf between them because they're obviously SO in love, that canonically they need to get married and have babies already.

* * *

><p><strong>Smile, For It's A Beautiful Life<strong>

"She's so… tiny," Yamamoto whispers, crouching onto the sofa next to Gokudera. He's surprised, but not really — he's more in awe if anything, that he and Gokudera could create something so small; real and living and breathing, with tiny hands and curly tufts of silver hair; she's just so _beautiful_.

Gokudera doesn't look up, his eyes are fixated on the small baby he's cradling but Yamamoto doesn't miss the smile that forms.

They've named her Lavina, and the surrogate gave birth to her three days ago and today is the first day Yamamoto and Gokudera were able to bring her home. She was born on September 17th; a healthy six pounds, eight ounces and the instant Yamamoto saw the silver hair, he wanted to name her after Gokudera's mother. And he won't tell anyone else this, but he's pretty sure when he told him, Gokudera _almost _cried and he's got that same sparkling wet sheen to his eyes now.

She's quiet, even when she cries and Yamamoto can't help but wonder if Gokudera was like this as a baby before he grew up to hate the world. He thinks Gokudera was, he imagines Gokudera was perfect, just like Lavina is. He watches as her tiny mouth twitches and her thin, barely noticeable silver brows come down, furrowing and in that instance she can't possibly look more like Gokudera. It makes Yamamoto chuckle and when Gokudera looks over at him with a scowl on his face, it only makes him laugh harder.

"What are you laughing at, idiot?" he hisses. "If you wake her, I'll —"

"Sorry," Yamamoto says, quickly catching himself. He brushes a silver lock of hair out of Gokudera's face and tucking it behind his ear. "I was just thinking how much she looks like you."

Gokudera's eyes flicker from Yamamoto's face to Lavina's and back up. His expression softens when he sighs and glances back down at the baby swaddled in his arms. "She has your eyes, so don't worry. Idiot."

Yamamoto laughs, it's light and breathy and he rests his head on Gokudera's shoulder so that he can get a better look at her. "I'm not worried. Even if she doesn't look like me at all, she's part of both of us and I think that's beautiful. I think _she's_beautiful."

"Sap," Gokudera teases and rests his head against Yamamoto's.

"I think you're beautiful."

"I think you're pushing it."

Yamamoto laughs, careful and quiet as to not wake the baby and he traces along her chubby cheek with his fingertip. When Yamamoto reaches the corner of her mouth, it curls into a small smile and his heart flutters as warmth fills his chest.

Gokudera's gasp is barely audible but it's adorable nonetheless, especially when he tries to cover it up with, "Look, she's laughing at your lameness."

Yamamoto knows the smile is because she's dreaming or from gas but that's the first smile they've ever seen from her and they got to see it together; it means everything in the world to him. Especially because it seemed like she consciously knew and understood what they were saying.

"It really is a miracle, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"Her. She's the miracle, but also that — people — like _us_ can have our own kids," Yamamoto says. "Isn't it amazing? I've never appreciated science so much until now."

This time it's Gokudera that chuckles, and it's a rare but not at all an odd sound. It's really like music to Yamamoto's ears, as _lame_ as that sounds — Gokudera's laugh makes Yamamoto happy, almost as happy as Lavina's smile does.

"You're a total dork," Gokudera says but his voice is soft and fond. "You've never appreciated science. Ever."

"Haha, that's true."

"Now if they could only come up with a way to visit other planets faster."

"Who's the dork now?" Yamamoto laughs. He's rewarded with a sharp jab in his side, courtesy of Gokudera's elbow.

"Shut up, baseball freak."

"Ow," he coughs. "But, I love you."

"I know," Gokudera replies with a smirk and Yamamoto would love to tackle him, wrestle him to the floor and _make_ him to say _I__love__you_by tickling him and it sounds childish and it probably is but Yamamoto loves to see Gokudera smile. And he'll settle for the smile that's on his husband's face right now as he gazes at their daughter because that smile makes pride and love and other things he doesn't have a name for swell in his chest so much that his heart feels like it's going to burst.

Yamamoto leans forward and places a gentle kiss on the baby's forehead, letting his lips linger a little so he can inhale the sweet and inexplicable scent only newborn babies seem to have. When he pulls back, Lavina's eyes flutter behind her eyelids and she frowns and Yamamoto can't help but laugh.

"She even gets that same look you do when I kiss you."

Gokudera smirks and carefully adjusts Lavina so that she rests in the crook of his other arm. "Are you sure I make _that_ face?"

"Yeah, sometimes," Yamamoto muses, rubbing the scar on his chin. "But sometimes you make this other face—"

"Oh just shut up and kiss me, you idiot," Gokudera says behind a smile. And Yamamoto does, sweet and sure and slow and he can feel Gokudera's smile still against his mouth, even when he can't kiss anymore because he can't stop grinning himself.

Fifteen years later and he's still as every bit in love with Gokudera as he was when they were in middle school and he confessed to Gokudera on the rooftop of Namimori. But now they have so much more; they're married and they have a family of their own now, even if Yamamoto is still in shock that Gokudera ever agreed. He shows Yamamoto his love in his own way and Yamamoto accepts it, and honestly he wouldn't rather it any differently.

He turns so that Gokudera can adjust himself on the sofa and he's leaning on Yamamoto's chest with Lavina still sleeping peacefully in his arms. He watches the two of them, takes note that Gokudera hasn't taken his eyes off her since they walked in the door. He tries hard not to laugh when the both of them let out a sigh at the same time before he realises that Gokudera's fallen asleep too.

No matter what things have happened in the past, how ugly their world can get, inside their home is a place where nothing but love and warmth can flourish and Yamamoto has nothing but good feelings towards his future. He smiles wide, even though there isn't anyone around to see because hey, it's a beautiful life.


	4. Healing Hands

**Pairing : **Yamamoto Takeshi/Gokudera Hayato

**Rating : **R18

**Warning : **Fluff, Sickness, Hand Jobs, Hand Jobs in the Bathtub, Future Fic, Premonition!verse, Pre-Premonition!verse

**Summary : **Yamamoto's not feeling well and apparently Gokudera knows just the right kind of remedy.

**Notes : **For tastewithouttalent (Kat) because hand jobs in the bathtub are hot and because Kat keeps lavishing me with amazing stories and because we are DESTROYING each other with this ship. I'm not sorry.

**Healing Hands**

* * *

><p>When Yamamoto opens his eyes, it's excruciatingly slow. There's a dull burn and ache behind his eyeballs, and when he blinks he fears they might spontaneously combust with the amount of heat that emits from them. He can already feel the sting of tears collecting in the wells of his eyes and they bring no relief from the pain.<p>

When he opens his eyes again, he looks to Gokudera's side of the bed and frowns when he sees nothing but an empty pillow. He wonders what time it is because the heavy curtains are drawn and the clock is on the nightstand behind him and looking at it would require him to turn around. Yamamoto knows turning around right now isn't an option, he can already feel the throbbing in his temples.

When he can't take the suspense anymore, Yamamoto props himself up on his elbows, his hands underneath their goosedown pillows, and groggily looks around their bedroom. The door is ajar, only open far enough to allow about two inches of amber glow streaming in from the hall light.

He takes a look over at the alarm clock and it reads three fifty-seven pm. He's never been good at math but he counts back to the time he and Gokudera had finally fell asleep and realises he's slept for over thirteen hours. It's not an unusual nor impossible thing for Yamamoto to do, but he hasn't really slept like that since he was a teenager and Gokudera rarely lets him sleep in.

Despite feeling like crap, Yamamoto eases himself up into a sitting position, and the slow motion does nothing to stall the wave of vertigo that crashes into him. It causes him to clutch the white linens coiled around his naked waist for anchorage in hopes the feeling might pass quickly and he won't need to throw up.

Assuming he's home, Yamamoto opens his mouth to call out to Gokudera, since he hasn't spotted a note and Tsuna gave them the day off so they could spend time together, so he must be home. In doing so, Yamamoto realises his throat feels raw and swollen, two hard lumps where his glands should be.

As if on cue, Gokudera swings the bedroom door open, scowl pulled tight at his features and carrying a metallic tray. His mouth hung open like he was about to yell but when his eyes fall on Yamamoto, his expression softens.

"You're finally awake, slacker."

Yamamoto can feel his lips move into the smile that comes so naturally when he sees Gokudera. "To be fair, I was travelling and didn't much sleep," he says slowly, working his jaw which feels tight and unhinging and there's a stab of pain behind each ear when he moves it. "And then, you know, when I came home we —"

"Enough," Gokudera interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I get it. I let you sleep in anyways. I can be a nice guy too, y'know."

Yamamoto grins and stretches out for Gokudera but he gets the tray shoved unceremoniously into his arms instead.

"Here."

"W-what's this? You… you cooked?" Yamamoto asks incredulously. The food is chazuke with umeboshi and chicken filet with grilled onigiri and ichigo daifuku for dessert. It looks delicious but the aromas invading his nostrils are making him feel ill. He's not sure if it's because he's been feeling unwell or if it's because Gokudera's cooking is equivalent to his sister's, except Gokudera manages to burn down households on top of all that.

Yamamoto deadpans. "Wait… is our kitchen still in one piece?"

Gokudera flashes him a dirty look and Yamamoto can see colour rise in his cheeks which he will never stop finding adorable. "Shut up, stupid. I… I didn't cook it."

Yamamoto chuckles and that hurts a lot, makes the blood pound hard in his head. "Really? Where did you find Japanese food like this? It looks home made."

"I went to see the tenth today, I had some business to take care of. And Kyoko-san was cooking so I — just eat it, you bastard," Gokudera grumbles, crawling onto the bed to situate himself at Yamamoto's side. He ends up stretching himself out, propping his head up by resting his chin in the palm of his hand and he watches Yamamoto expectantly.

Yamamoto doesn't want to let Gokudera know whatever trouble and embarrassment he had gone through to get the obvious comfort food to go to waste, something Yamamoto can't get here in Italy and would _need_ after a fourteen hour flight in from Egypt because the Vongola jets needed maintenance and there was a ridiculous amount of lay over waiting times with Air France, the only flight Yamamoto was able to catch. It makes Yamamoto's heart swell so much that it threatens to burst because it's just one more thoughtful thing Gokudera does without even being conscious of it — and if he is, he seeks no gratification from it. It's just one more way that Gokudera shows his love without having to say it out loud.

He picks up the spoon first, dipping it in and then tasting the broth and letting the warmth slide down his throat in hopes it soothes the burn there but once it hits his stomach, his stomach begins to heave and churn.

"Is it good?"

"Yeah, it's good," he lies. It's making him feel worse and the flavour is awful on his tongue, even though he knows it's Kyoko's cooking, so it should in no ways resemble Bianchi's.

Gokudera moves to sit up and leans in close and Yamamoto's pretty sure his cover's just been blown. After all, he can't expect Gokudera not to notice.

"Hey. You look kinda pale. And you're sweating. Are you feeling okay?" he asks, and Yamamoto feels those green eyes on him; hot with inspection and suspicion.

Yamamoto sets the tray on the night table beside him, the sudden movement jostling him and causing his stomach to flop while his head spun. "I'm fine," he lies again but he knows Gokudera's smarter than that. "And I should get out of bed — Squalo had mentioned that he wanted to see me when I got back and —"

"What? No. You just got home. Who cares what that noisy shark wants. The tenth gave us a day off for a reason —"

Yamamoto can't help but smile. "Oh, does that mean Hayato wants —"

"Don't say it," Gokudera threatens with half a smirk but he reaches out to pull Yamamoto over to him and when his hand touches Yamamoto heated skin, he draws it back quickly, like he's been burned. "You're hot."

"I know," Yamamoto teases but it's not worth anything because he doesn't have the energy to put the right amount of arrogance into it, and now that Gokudera knows that he's sick, it's like his body has been feigning some state of minor wellness before because he feels ten times worse all of a sudden.

"You're an idiot," Gokudera mutters and settles a hand to Yamamoto's forehead. The touch is welcomed, as at any point Gokudera's touch is, but Yamamoto finds little relief in the coolness coming from Gokudera's palm.

"You've got a fever," he states disapprovingly and when Yamamoto looks over at him, he can see the prominent scowl but behind that it is genuine concern because his eyes don't match the sourness on his face. "I should call Shamal."

"It's nothing," Yamamoto insists, wrapping this fingers around Gokudera's wrist. "Besides, he'll only give you trouble. You know how that guy is." Yamamoto finishes with Shamal's_ I don't treat men_ silently in his head before resting it in Gokudera's lap. He feels a fresh wave of nausea pass over him coupled by a hot flash. He draws in a breath and wills the feeling away because there's no way he wants to give up resting in Gokudera's lap for resting on the edge of a toilet seat. The pounding in his head is back with a vengeance and he thinks if he can just go to sleep again, he'd feel better once he woke up.

Gokudera's silent, offering his hand to sift through Yamamoto's hair and graze his scalp and Yamamoto welcomes that sensation too, because that in itself is the remedy he needs to feel better. But it isn't long before Gokudera speaks and it's not without the slight tremble of worry only Yamamoto would be able to pick up after knowing everything about this man for the last ten years of his life.

"You could have caught something, stupid. We should go to the estate and get you checked out, c'mon." He tugs at Yamamoto's hair gently, but it sends searing jolts of pain that meander through Yamamoto's skull to the base if his neck and he shrinks back and hisses without realising.

Gokudera doesn't offer an apology, he only digs around in his jeans pocket, while Yamamoto rolls over and curls up underneath the sheets. Gokudera's hand rubs soothing strokes along his spine and Yamamoto doesn't tease him about being affectionate this time.

"What are you doing?" Yamamoto asks when he hears the faint sound of Gokudera tapping in a number on his cell phone.

"Calling that shit doctor."

Yamamoto tries to sit up, he doesn't want Gokudera to have to go through the trouble and the hit it takes to his pride to have to ask Shamal for anything, but he doubles over on the bed instead, hand flying to his mouth to stifle the threat of vomiting. His head is throbbing viscously and he has to blink several times to clear away the black and red dots that begin to appear in front of his eyes.

"That fucking _asshole_," he hears Gokudera growl except there's a shrill edge to his voice and Yamamoto's worried he's going to panic for no reason.

"Hayato, it's just jet lag or something. It's nothing big, don't worry," he tries, says it as soothingly as he can despite every time opening his mouth is opportunity for stuff to come spewing out of it.

He could convince himself and Gokudera that his body is just reacting to the change in countries and the fact that he hasn't taken very good care of himself in the last week during his mission in Cairo, even if he knows he'd get reprimanded for that too. He doesn't want to have to leave the house, the comfort of his king size bed which has the faint, always lingering smell of him and Gokudera. More importantly he does't want to leave Gokudera's care in exchange for anyone else's — especially that perverted doctor, not when Gokudera's hand is back in his hair, stroking and massaging his scalp so gently it'd be hard to believe it was Gokudera at all.

He can hear Gokudera curisng in Italian and some of it he recognises, others he's only ever heard Gokudera use a few times and Yamamoto can't help but think these are special cuss words reserved only for the people that really piss Gokudera off. But, Yamamoto can't think too long or too hard about that because with Gokudera's lulling touch, he's already beginning to feel better.

"He's not answering, fucking piece of shit. Come on, let's go." Gokudera moves to get off the bed, tugging at Yamamoto's shoulder and Yamamoto shoots his arm out, wraps his hand around Gokudera's forearm before he can go anywhere or shake him anymore.

"Baby — _please_…" And it's brave of Yamamoto to call him this, it's usually a name Yamamoto uses to get Gokudera's laughable violent reaction paired with the deep vermilion colour that rises high in Gokudera's cheeks when he says it, but not today. Today it's in the form of a plea that'll hopefully let Gokudera know that all Yamamoto really wants to to is stay in bed underneath the sheets with a warm body pressed into his own. "I just want to stay home, with you," Yamamoto finishes, as if voicing it might make it plausible. Unfortunately, he knows Gokudera better than that, knows that even though he's twenty four and a little calmer, he's still frustratingly stubborn.

Gokudera frowns and eases back on the bed, kneeling in front of him. He brushes his hand across Yamamoto's forehead and even though he says nothing, his brow is creased and Yamamoto can read _I'm worried about you_ from his expression. Yamamoto knows though, when Gokudera opens his mouth it's going to be in protest.

"Let me just take a cool bath — okay? I'll feel better after that. And then I'll go back to bed. And I'll take something for the fever. Okay?"

Gokudera studies him with thin lips and stern eyes for a good minute before relenting a sigh and wrapping himself around Yamamoto. "Fine," he growls; mouth so close to his ear that his breath causes Yamamoto to shudder, "but the second your condition changes, we're leaving and you're going to see the doctors at the estate. Got it?"

Yamamoto nods, as slow as he can and Gokudera presses a kiss under his jaw; lets his lips linger there for a minute before he gets off the bed and leaves the room.

His body can sense that it no longer needs to keep of the charade of being only in minimal agony, because the second the bedroom door clicks shut, everything comes back full force. Yamamoto dares to move out of the bed, slowly swinging his legs over the edge and inhaling like he's about to take the leap out of a plane thirty thousand feet up in the air. When he stands, another wave of vertigo hits and he teeters, but quickly regains his composure before Gokudera can catch him.

It's been a while since Yamamoto's gotten sick, so he can understand why he feels this bad. But, all things considered, maybe it _is _because he caught something worse. And as promised, if his symptoms get any worse, he will go get himself checked out but for now he'd rather stay home with Gokudera and take advantage of his rare display of affection.

He staggers to the en suite bathroom and turns on the shower. They have a beautiful and a little extravagant porcelain claw foot tub big enough for the two of them to fit in, which happened to be on Gokudera's insistence, with brushed chrome accents centred in the middle of the bathroom. The marble tile is like ice meeting fire underneath his bare feet, and Yamamoto swears he can hear the sizzle every time his soles touch the floor. He reaches over and turns the shower head on, adjusts it so the temperature is just a little under lukewarm and steps over the edge of the tub. Yamamoto settles against the larger end of the tub, the wide mouth of it giving him enough space to stretch out — more like sprawl out. His knees knock against the cool porcelain and he rests his head in the cushioned dip in the centre of the ridge. The water feels good on his skin but his head has yet to stop throbbing. A few minutes in here and he should be fine, take some Aspirin to relieve the headache. Maybe sip some tea if this doesn't help him feel sleepy, but all Yamamoto knows is that falling asleep in Gokudera's lap or better yet, in Gokudera's arms, would be a lot easier — not to mention more preferable. Gokudera's affection was all the medicine he really needed.

The water begins to collect in the tub, filling it like a bath and the tepid temperature eases the tension in his shoulders and back, makes the searing heat of his flesh bearable. He closes his eyes that still burn painfully and hears the sudden soft pad of bare feet on the tile floor of the bathroom over the rush of the water.

Yamamoto doesn't open open his eyes, he knows it's Gokudera coming to check on him — also because there's no one else inside the house. Hopefully not, anyways. The footsteps disappear and return a while after, just as Yamamoto is starting to slide into sleep.

"I finally got a hold of him," Gokudera says, clearing his throat. He does it loudly enough that the sound resonates through the bathroom.

"Okay," Yamamoto answers thickly, only because he doesn't want Gokudera thinking he's dead inside the bathtub. He opens his eyes and rolls his head on the ledge to look in the direction of the entrance. Gokudera stands in the doorway, out of his suit and into a well worn, powder blue tee that Yamamoto happens to recognise as belonging to him, and tight fitting blue jeans. His hair is tied back and he's barefoot but above all this, Yamamoto takes note of the way Gokudera's shoulders are hunched and he's fidgeting with the promise ring (actually engagement ring but Gokudera won't let him call it that) he wears on a chain around his neck, something Yamamoto's noticed he does when he gets anxious. His mouth is wrought into a perplexed frown, his thin silver brows drawn close together. He looks _worried_.

"What's wrong?" Yamamoto asks wearily as he sits up, slow so he doesn't risk another dizzy spell or any more nausea.

Gokudera shakes his head and shrugs. "Nothing."

"Well what did Shamal say?"

Gokudera's silent for a minute before he takes a step into the bathroom. "That it could be cholera or avian influenza."

Yamamoto rolls his eyes, though they feel gritty like they've been coated in sand and it hurts more than the action is worth. "He's just trying to scare you. I took precautions, it's just a little fever. I'm probably just overworked."

It's Gokudera's turn to roll his eyes as he comes up behind Yamamoto and kneels at the back of the tub. "Under intelligent, maybe."

"I don't need to be smart when I've got my own genius," Yamamoto counters, his lips curling into that easy smile.

"Shut up."

Yamamoto doesn't have to see his face to know Gokudera's a dozen different shades of red right now and he wants to laugh but Gokudera's arms side over his shoulders and his hands dip into the bathwater.

"Feeling any better?" he asks, his breath falling just under Yamamoto's ear. It makes Yamamoto shudder, now that his skin is cool enough to feel the slight wisp of heat.

"Mm, a little now that you're here," Yamamoto replies, resting the back of his head on Gokudera's shoulder.

"Sap," Gokudera remarks and the sound of it is endearing, like most of Gokudera's insults. He reaches out and grabs a bath sponge that's been floating aimlessly in the water. The spray of the shower disperses when it hits Gokudera's arm, leaving beads of water to glisten on his pale skin. He kisses the top of Yamamoto's head and drags the sponge up his chest. Gokudera squeezes out the excess water when he reaches Yamamoto's clavicle and Yamamoto can't tell if the heat he feels all over is the fever or the warmth from having Gokudera respond to him like this.

The water feels soothing as it cascades down his chest and Gokudera slides the sponge back down Yamamoto's torso and dips it back into the bath to absorb more water. Yamamoto closes his eyes again and with every stroke of the sponge he feels the nausea subsiding and the headache beginning to dissipate. He breathes in the subtle vanilla scent in the strands of Gokudera's hair that brush against his face when he moves forward and Yamamoto feels like this can't get any closer to paradise.

Gokudera repeats this process a few times, slow and deliberate; sometimes stopping to kiss his shoulder, his neck and along his jaw. He doesn't speak and neither does Yamamoto because he feels like he's floating away, all the pain and nausea bleeding out of him with every stroke or kiss and he feels really, really good. There's no medicine in the world that can make him feel this way.

The next time Gokudera leans forward, Yamamoto turns his head and tilts his chin upwards, capturing Gokudera's warm lips with his own. Gokudera stiffens, Yamamoto can feel the surprise and sudden rigor behind Gokudera's lips and in the arm that's frozen across his chest, the sponge resting uselessly on his abdomen. Yamamoto doesn't let this deter him, Gokudera's always caught off guard when it comes to acts of love and kindness and reciprocation. Instead he fans his tongue across Gokudera's lips and nips at the corner of Gokudera's bottom lip and instantly he can feel Gokudera melt into him; parting his lips and joining Yamamoto's tongue without hesitation.

He loves the feel of Gokudera's tongue, the way it rolls over his slowly and skillfully and the unique and heady taste of lingering coffee and smoke only makes Yamamoto yearn for more. Yamamoto can't help but hum, warm and warbled in the back of his throat when Gokudera's hand comes up, abandoning the sponge and presses against his cheek while the other curls into the hair at the back of his head. Yamamoto gets lost in these kinds of kisses, the ones are slow and simply passionate; the ones that let Yamamoto know how Gokudera really feels because even ten years later he still uses his actions to speak volumes for the words he doesn't say.

Gokudera's hand leaves his cheek but his fingertips skirt along his jaw and brush down his neck idly. Yamamoto can feel a different kind of heat collect in his stomach, replacing any bout of nausea with a greater pull and when Gokudera's fingers ghost over his chest and reach his navel, there's a swoop of anticipation in his gut and a hitch of breath; which Gokudera takes as an opportunity to catch his own. His lips don't move from Yamamoto's, they just part a little and Yamamoto tingles with every tiny gasp of breath Gokudera takes.

It's Yamamoto turn to gasp when Gokudera's long, slender fingers curl around the base of his cock. He doesn't miss a beat and presses his lips against Gokudera's and lets him control the pace once again. The shower spray hits Gokudera's arm and Yamamoto's chest, offering a brisk solution to the rising temperature of his body. It feels good, especially when Gokudera's thumb slides up his length with just a little bit of pressure and smooths over the head of his cock. He gasps pleasure into Gokudera's mouth and fights between sensation when Gokudera's tongue laps over his and slides against the roof of his mouth.

Yamamoto remembers he has working limbs and raises an arm out if the water, lifts it above and behind him so that he can clutch a fistful of Gokudera's soft, silver hair while Gokudera's thumb continues to move against his cock. It makes Yamamoto jolt when Gokudera finally moves his hand up his shaft, but his thumb remains rubbing at the head. He mewls muffled against Gokudera's mouth and then it leaves him, kisses a trail under his jaw and down his neck while Gokudera's hand closes over his cock and begins pumping in sure, steady strokes.

Gokudera's tongue glides up Yamamoto's neck while his wrist twists and slides up his cock and he uses the pad of his thumb to smudge leaking pre-come around his head and it's got Yamamoto moaning, his head nothing but a thick fog of pleasure. The fever and nausea has long been forgotten, and all Yamamoto can concentrate on now is the way Gokudera kneads his earlobe between his teeth and the coiling of heat mounting in his stomach.

For a second, Gokudera's lips rest on the shell of Yamamoto's ear and every breath sends a ripple down his spine, bursting into smaller ripples as they bounce of each vertebrae. He knows he's close, his grip tightens in Gokudera's hair causing the other man to hiss, but he doesn't have the coherency to apologise. Yamamoto's arching off the porcelain and shifting his hips to meet Gokudera's strokes, fucking his hand with the urgent need to release.

Gokudera doesn't allow it, his grip tightens at the base of Yamamoto's cock and a groan slips off Yamamoto's lips, partially in frustration. He relaxes his body back into the water but now it's a bit of a shock with the high flush of his skin. Gokudera softly kisses his ear and begins pumping once again, and Yamamoto tries concentrating on the slosh of the water each time Gokudera's hand dips below it to take his mind off coming because he wants this to last just as much, but he can't. Not when Gokudera whispers, "I love you," so quietly its barely audible, but it's enough that the words tickle the inside of his ear and spread warmth throughout his chest. And then Gokudera speeds up and the sensation against of Yamamoto's already sensitive flesh has him seeing white and overwhelming euphoria floods him. He chokes on Gokuderas name and comes sticky in Gokudera's palm and over his own chest and Gokudera strokes him right through the remaining spasms of his climax.

Yamamoto sinks boneless back into the bathwater, the shower spray already cleaning off the pearly sheen and Gokudera drags his hand through the mess, pausing to let the water rinse off his hand and then uses it to cradle Yamamoto's head. He leans forward and meshes their lips together in a languid kiss that leaves Yamamoto completely spellbound. Gokudera pulls away, snagging his teeth across Yamamoto's bottom lip and rests his forehead against Yamamoto's. The green in his eyes have some haze, they're dark with lust but otherwise soft, and it'd be confusing for anyone who wasn't Yamamoto, but he understands everything about Gokudera.

"Feeling better?"

Yamamoto collects himself, and he can see the hint of a smirk curl half of Gokudera's mouth.

"Hm," he muses allowing clarity to drag him back down to reality. He does feel better, better than he has since waking up. There's still a slight bit of fog in his head and a dull ache, but nothing Aspirin won't fix. He doesn't feel the need to throw up, and his core temperature seems to have returned to normal, despite the warn glow of his skin. "Yeah. Definitely better."

Gokudera scoffs and stands, and Yamamoto sees dampness patterning his shirt and the ends of his hair are wet, curling around his neck like silver rope.

"Clean yourself off and come to bed. You'll catch a cold if you're in there too long," he says, sounding mildly amused. "Doctor's orders."

The full smirk finally breaks through and he leaves the bathroom. Yamamoto's left speechless in the bathtub and he lets Gokudera's words sink in. Warm beds and hot bodies are definitely a welcome trade to the now too chilly bath water. He can't help but chuckle as he leans forward to shut off the water. He rises slow, expecting to feel dizzy and wobble but he feels just fine. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and the colour is back in his cheeks. He looks better and feels better and it's all all thanks to Gokudera's healing hands.


	5. If You Can't Dance

**Pairing**** : **Yamamoto Takeshi/Gokudera Hayato

**Rating**** : **R18  
><strong>Warning<strong>** : 5980 **— Gokudera tops, smut, jealous!Gokudera, Yamamoto gets too touchy feely with other people when he's drunk, semi public sex  
><strong>Summary<strong>** : **Yamamoto can't dance and Gokudera teaches him a lesson in things.

**Notes** : For tastewithouttalent who had the overwhelming need for Yamamoto to get fucked against a wall. Coz, let's be honest here. Who _doesn't ?_

x

**If You Can't Dance, I'll Teach You Not to Stand on Toes**

* * *

><p>It starts off with an increasingly bad mood as Gokudera is not one for faceless crowds and festivities but has to be here on a show of good faith. It <em>is <em>for the boss after all.

The Langouste _famille_ is one of the Vongola's allied families in France. The daughter of the _sotto __capo _is getting married and the Tenth asked him and Yamamoto to attend the reception. He understands why the Tenth chose them. Gokudera is usually the diplomatic guardian to send out for business talks hidden behind formal parties. Yamamoto is the decoy; he's appeasing and cordial and he knows how to entertain his company, not to mention strikingly good looking. Gokudera hates to think of Yamamoto being good at _anything _but he's learned to give appreciation where it's due.

But it does _not _help Gokudera's ever rising irritation when he glances over at his partner and sees him with a bridesmaid he recognises as Riva Belgarde, daughter of the Etienne family's consigliere. Yamamoto's cupping her elbow while he leans in and whispers something in her ear, laughing as she pulls away and her cheeks flush pink.

Gokudera doesn't drink at these functions because sometimes he gets a little unreasonable when he's drank too much and well, he's on the clock. He wouldn't be a very responsible right hand man if he were to get drunk and make a fool of himself. However, tonight he's made an exception and he's currently nursing his fifth double, a fine Amorik single malt and customary wedding cigar clenched between his teeth. Gokudera needs the alcohol to dull the edges of his agitation spiking or he's going to lose his shit. He can't stand the sound of the women and their syrupy giggles or that Yamamoto is the cause of them. He isn't drunk _yet _but it's getting increasingly hard to ignore Yamamoto's infectious laugh and harder to trump the tingling jolts passing through his groin with anger.

He's already started the night in a bad mood and watching Yamamoto flirt with all the not-so-unfortunate looking Parisian bachelorettes isn't making it any better. He can't understand why because though jealousy _is _one of his more predominant emotions, it isn't one he lets get the better of him — not so much now that he's in his early twenties and a respectable consigliere of Italy's most influential families. But perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he and Yamamoto haven't been able to see much of each other lately, let alone touch. And maybe it's because these stuffy parties are a pointless and boring way to spend his time when he _could _be spending it with Yamamoto, but that isn't something he can complain about because this is for the family and for the Tenth.

But Gokudera has a suspicious and infuriating feeling that he's definitely jealous, Yamamoto looks so goddamn _fuckable_ in a suit and he really wants to remind Yamamoto who he belongs to.

"— the documents and blueprints have already been downloaded to your PDA."

Gokudera realises he hasn't been listening and feels a little ashamed that he's forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation with one of the Langouste family _capos__, _Sacha LeBlanc, about a major drug lab they've been having trouble with — the _real _reason the Tenth asked for their attendance.

Gokudera clears his throat and follows with a sip of whiskey. "Right. Thank you. My partner and I will take a look at the information and I'll be able to devise a tactical approach from that."

"How many soldiers will you need?" Leblanc asks, casually sipping bourbon from a crystal tumbler.

"We shouldn't need many," Gokudera tells him, _trying_to sound professional when his voice is getting to be too much on edge for even his own ears. "My partner and I, as well as you… I'll have to assess the layout for the warehouse, but around fifteen men — ten if they're really crafty — should do."

"It's normally a problem we wouldn't need assistance with but they move locations so often that it's difficult to keep up," LeBlanc mutters sourly.

Gokudera nods curtly. "The drugs they're peddling have been a menace to the Tenth. They've been spreading across Italy and as of two days ago, there's been ten drug-related deaths from their product. We think they've been moving into Sicily through Porto Palo."

LeBlanc gives him a puzzling look. "Porto Palo? But why go through the trouble of —"

Yamamoto's loud and raucous laughter rings through their conversation and Gokudera feels his fingers itch for the mini bombs he has situated around his wrists. Blowing the idiot up would be a more than satisfying way to end the night if he continues to act like a drunken playboy.

He glares at the Rain Guardian, who is in the middle of some god awful rendition of the East Coast Swing with both Riva Belgarde and another dainty blond, with fair skin and a fairly decent rack fitted in a short, pale lemon chiffon dress. The women are giggling and complaining about Yamamoto's footwork and their hands roam any part of his body freely that Yamamoto hasn't the capacity to evade.

"Sorry for my partner's lax attitude… And the interruption," Gokudera grunts, puffing in his cigar. He's about five minutes out from fixing that fucking attitude.

"No, don't worry about it," LeBlanc laughs in heavily accented English. "He looks like he's having fun."

_A __little __too __much __fun__, _Gokudera thinks to himself as he glowers at Yamamoto's dancing, grimacing as he steps on toes and_ his_ hands travel to places that make Gokudera want to scrawl his name over every inch of Yamamoto's body in permanent tattoo ink after he's beaten the shit out of him for good measure.

His antics are drawing too much attention and some distasteful looks from the older, more conservative family members. Gokudera watches him throw his head back in another fit of laughter and then turns to pick up another flute of champagne from one of the waiters. He has _clearly_had way too much to drink.

Gokudera clears his throat again and turns to LeBlanc. He's had enough of this stupid display. "I apologise, but you're going to have to excuse me. I need to… speak with my colleague," Gokudera spits, and he is disgusted to hear the thickness of jealousy that makes it into each word.

LeBlanc laughs nervously. "Sure. Don't be too hard on him. It is a party after all, monsieur Gokudera. We'll meet at the specified rendezvous point tomorrow at o' nine hundred hours."

Gokudera gives another curt nod and stalks over to the drunken guardian, still tripping over women's feet and exploding with boisterous laughter. Gokudera smiles politely at the _women_ who noisily complain, which somehow leads to a very awkward and pointless tug of war until Gokudera, as mannerly as he possibly can, tells them to go fuck themselves. That _is_ what he would have liked to have said, but it would have been very uncouth and that's just not Gokudera Hayato, the Vongola Decimo's consigliere.

"Takeshi," Gokudera growls under his breath while glaring at the women, finally getting him free. "Come with me, _i__diota__._"

That would be the extremely irate and jealous Gokudera Hayato, Yamamoto's _very_pissed off boyfriend; and the man he's dragging out of the ballroom is about to be a very dead Yamamoto Takeshi.

"Baby! Come dance with me!" Yamamoto chirps loudly, swinging his arms clumsily. Gokudera catches his arms and drags him to a nearby walk-in hall closet that seems currently unoccupied. Not that it should be, but one would never know at these kinds of functions.

Dating in the Mafia is hard enough but dating a man who's a Guardian for the Vongola family, and you're _the_Gokudera Hayato and he's _the _Yamamoto Takeshi, a very frustratingly sexy-in-a-suit _idiot_, well it's just near fucking impossible.

"Don't call me _that__,_" Gokudera snarls, pushing Yamamoto inside. His back hits the wall with a soft thud and Gokudera hastily shuts the door behind him. "God, how much have you had to drink?"

His fingers work at the knot in Yamamoto's tie before Yamamoto can be coherent at what's really going on. He laughs and lazily lifts his head, catching Gokudera's eyes for a split second before Gokudera has to look away and remember that he's _angry_and to _not_get lost in the yearning haze that's curtained over the gold in Yamamoto's eyes.

"What are we doing here?" Yamamoto slurs, the back end of his sentence catching on a giggle. He's barely able to stand firmly on his own feet.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson," Gokudera growls as he works his slender fingers nimbly down the buttons of Yamamoto's dress shirt. "For having to make me watch that god _awful _dancing of yours." He pauses to catch himself before he says something too revealing but it slips out anyways. He's too focused at the way his fingertips spark when they brush the exposed skin below Yamamoto's dress shirt. "And to remind you of who you belong to."

"Who I — _Oh__,_" Yamamoto exhales and it's so hushed Gokudera can barely hear it himself. He's already pushing the jacket off Yamamoto's shoulders and leaning in to press his mouth against the bob of Yamamoto's throat before sinking his teeth in. Yamamoto gasps above him and Gokudera wastes no time fitting his knee in between Yamamoto's legs in an effort to spread them wider while he palms Yamamoto's shoulders back and pins him against the closet wall.

"H-here?" Yamamoto stutters dreamily and Gokudera doesn't offer a response. He's too busy sliding his hand down the curve of Yamamoto's torso and sucking at the juncture between the other's neck and shoulder. When Gokudera's hands start undoing Yamamoto's belt, he groans Gokudera's name and Gokudera dips his head down to the hollow between Yamamoto's collarbone, trailing his tongue along the skin before he pinches it between his teeth. He knows he's likely leave visible bruises but if this is the way Yamamoto is going to act then everyone else should see that he's already marked, that he's _taken_and Gokudera isn't nice enough to share.

Yamamoto's hand tangles in his hair and he tries to drag Gokudera's head from his chest to his mouth, but Gokudera doesn't want that yet. He's too busy biting and sucking against Yamamoto's skin on his way down, leaving angry red hickeys that will later form into purple and yellow nebulae splashed across the sun kissed skin. It's they way Gokudera desires it, perfect constellations that tell a story of just how much Gokudera _wants _Yamamoto, because the words he can't quite say. And then they'll fade and Gokudera will replace them with new ones, each time a different pattern on a different part of Yamamoto's skin, but the story will always remain the same.

He reaches Yamamoto's abdomen, can feel the pull of muscles under his lips when Yamamoto's anticipating inhale gets caught in his throat. He doesn't spend time there, just bites and sucks the skin until he's satisfied the blood has reached the surface and Yamamoto's groaning and hissing in pain and pleasure. Gokudera doesn't waste time pulling down Yamamoto's pants and boxers all at once over his hips, the tug on his hair making him hiss sharply before Yamamoto's hand loosens the resistance. He drops to his knees and licks a hard stripe against Yamamoto's thigh, feels shudder under his lips when Gokudera presses them to the space on his thigh close enough to be a tease and leaves yet another mark. Yamamoto's hands are back in his hair, the influence of alcohol allowing groans to slip fast and fluidly out of his mouth and Gokudera hasn't even gotten to the good part.

He doesn't however, have time to tease. He can't see in the darkness but his mind has already collected the past memories of Yamamoto's flushed cock, straining and aching for attention and judging by the tightening grip pulling at his scalp, Gokudera's hindsight serves correct. He wraps a hand around Yamamoto's cock, listens to him inhale sharply with the motion and moves in short, quick strokes. He spits in the palm of his other hand, uses it to get his fingers well coated before he trails them across Yamamoto's entrance.

"_Oh__,_" he hears Yamamoto repeat, like some semblance of clarity has worked it's way back into his blood. He's not used to this, but it's not like they've _never_done it and while Gokudera enjoys the burning fill of Yamamoto's cock inside him, sometimes he _needs_ the satisfaction of brandishing his mark all over Yamamoto, carving the memory of himself into Yamamoto's body.

He doesn't go slow, there's no time for that because anyone can walk in at any time, and that's part of the thrill. They're still on the same floor as the ballroom and Gokudera can still hear the music floating through the walls and the scuffs of shoes outside the doors.

He pushes the tips of both fingers inside while he swallows Yamamoto's cock, humming victory around it's thickness when Yamamoto's knees buck and he slides an inch or two down the wall. He can't wrap any form if coherency around the words and noises that leave his mouth as he pushes deeper and crooks his fingers, gliding them over the velvety walls inside. Gokudera wraps his thumb and index finger around the base and holds pressure there while he strokes his length wet with his mouth. He wants Yamamoto to build up until he can't hold it in, he wants him to forget his own name. He wants the cause of Yamamoto's disjointedness to be the pleasure he's giving him rather than the alcohol.

He hears the back Yamamoto's head hit the wall and he hears him utter something unintelligible as he tries to push Gokudera's head forward, seeking more heat for his cock to sink into. It's not enough, Gokudera thinks, if he's still able to move. So he twists his fingers and adds a third, driving pressure until Yamamoto's breath comes hard and laboured and he's having difficulty remaining upright. Finally Gokudera lets the hold on the base of Yamamoto's cock go in favour of pinning his hip against the wall and he milks him generously through his climax, swallowing the bitterness against while still moving his mouth over Yamamoto's cock.

Yamamoto is panting above him, his arms limp and loose at his sides and Gokudera knows if he lets Yamamoto's hip go, he's going to keel over. He withdraws his fingers and stands, pushing his body into Yamamoto's to keep him upright. Yamamoto's gaze slides up and falls on Gokudera's mouth, like he's waiting for for the kiss he's yet to get. Gokudera doesn't have time to kiss him now, his own cock is straining painfully against the elastic of his boxers and all he can envision his fucking Yamamoto flat against the wall.

"Turn around," he commands as he struggles to get his cock free of the suffocating cloth and all the anger has melted out of his tone. He's not surprised to hear that his own voice is rough with desire and Yamamoto complies with a soft and distant nod, but he can't pull off the action smoothly.

Gokudera's a little bit rougher than he intends to be when he turns Yamamoto around with a tight grip on his shoulder and a hand pressed tightly on the small of his back. Yamamoto makes a noise but Gokudera can barely hear it over the blood rushing in his ears with the anticipation of what he's about to do and the fear of being caught. He uses his knee to knock Yamamoto's apart and they can't move far, trapped by the clothing pooled around his ankles. It's enough, Gokudera thinks as he spits into his palm again and slicks his hand over his cock. He nearly melts into the skin-on-skin contact, eyes fluttering closed for a second, but it's not the right heat he desires. He lines up against Yamamoto's ass, drags his hip out to meet him proper and pushes the tip of his cock inside.

He can feel Yamamoto tighten around him already, can feel the shiver of pleasure run down his spine and Gokudera worries there's not enough lube for it not to be painful, but Yamamoto is still slick with spit and it makes the rest of the movement smooth, if not easy.

Yamamoto whines, long and low but it's muffled against the wall where his cheek is pressed into the surface and his hands brace it to keep himself from collapsing. Gokudera puts more pressure on his hips, grips them so tight that he hopes they leave pale bruises in Yamamoto's skin, another token to remember the night by.

Their height difference isn't as big as it used to be, Gokudera is able lean forward and lick a line along each vertebrae before clamping his teeth over the knob at the top of Yamamoto's spine. It makes Yamamoto hiss and push his hips back to meet with Gokudera's deep thrust. He pulls back as Gokudera leans forward again, palm hitting the wall above Yamamoto's head to brace himself as he pushes in as deep as he can go. The gesture draws a groan from Gokudera and earns a keening sound high in Yamamoto's throat when the depth of Gokudera's cock causes the head to brush against his prostate.

"_Fuck_."

Gokudera knows he isn't going to last much longer if he continues like this, there's too much heat and too much blood rushing, his skin flushed and his heart pounding and the desire to see Yamamoto's face is strong enough to hastily pull out, growling frustration as he grabs Yamamoto's loose and lax frame to turn him and shove him against the wall. He puts his arm across Yamamoto's chest, leans in and crushes their mouths together, the high course of adrenaline causes him to momentarily blank out until all he can taste is the sweet champagne off Yamamoto's lips and all he can hear are the muffled whimpers coming from the other.

Yamamoto's mouth opens and he draws in a breath, tries to roll Gokudera's name out on his tongue but it's lost when Gokudera's own sweeps the inside of his mouth roughly and he hooks Yamamoto's leg over his arm. He leans in and uses his strength to slide Yamamoto up the wall a few inches, enough that when he relaxes his grip and hooks Yamamoto's other leg over his other arm, Yamamoto can sink down on his cock with ease.

He's past any coherency now, and Gokudera's eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that he can see Yamamoto's eyes are shuttered, lashes wet and mouth damp from the haphazard and hurried kiss prior. It hangs open, slack and shallow air comes out in huffs as Gokudera fucks up into him with frenetic energy. Yamamoto's arms circle around his neck and Gokudera uses his legs to support the weight of carrying Yamamoto while he fucks him against the closet wall. He's not even aware himself at how loud either of them are being, though Yamamoto is way past having the capacity to even moan properly, and all that leaves his mouth are short clipped words and garbled noises.

"Haya—," Yamamoto chokes and his head falls back to hit the wall again as Gokudera drops a hand between them to jerk over Yamamoto's hardened length. The other's hands rest loosely on Gokudera's shoulders, and Gokudera can see every ounce of energy Yamamoto might have had bleed out and he's not able to keep lucid. Gokudera ignores the ache crawling down his spine and the undesirable pull in his calves and biceps as he thrusts into Yamamoto, the smooth heat enveloping Gokudera's cock, until Yamamoto is tensing and coming hard against his own chest, inhaling a sharp breath like new life's been cast into him. Gokudera doesn't try to hold out any longer, Yamamoto's clenching tight around him, drawing out his own orgasm. He shudders and all he sees is white, briefly drunk off the euphoric haze of orgasm bliss.

Gokudera comes to when his muscles pull tight in his legs and Yamamoto slumps over breathless. He's too gone to even muster the energy to lift his head when Gokudera ducks his own to kiss him. He eases Yamamoto down and he's shaky on his feet. Gokudera holds him against the wall as he drags Yamamoto's pants back up and uses his suit jacket to clean the mess on Yamamoto's chest. He's got no idea if any of it has made onto his own dress shirt, but thankfully he's wearing white and his own jacket lays spent on the floor.

He gets Yamamoto dressed and himself fixed up and wonders how in the hell he'll explain himself if anyone happens to see them leave the closet. Yamamoto is still not able to stand, he's slouched over and looking up at Gokudera, smiling and glazed and he's fucking _glowing _so brightly Gokudera can just about see his radiance in the dark. He lets his own mouth slip into a smile that doesn't normally come easy but it's more of a victorious smirk if anything. He straightens himself out and hoists Yamamoto up to his feet. All Yamamoto can do is stare at him, his expression soft and curious, with a wide smile and dreamy fog shrouding over his eyes.

Gokudera has to look away, can feel the heat under his skin flush all the way up from his neck to the tips of his ears with the shocking reality of what they've just done when he rests his hand on the doorknob. His stomach flips but he opens it quickly, figuring it's less painful to rip the band-aid off rather than peel it. A blast of cool air hits him and helps settle the racing of his pulse and he takes the chance to drag the half conscious Yamamoto out of the closet.

He hooks Yamamoto's arm across his shoulder and glances down at himself and the jacket slung over his arm. There's no mess visible and Gokudera can breathe easy. He spots the exit and makes a beeline for it, with Yamamoto stumbling along. Now he just looks like someone escorting a drunken idiot out of a party, except he and Yamamoto are a little disheveled and Gokudera can still feel his skin tingling with heat.

When they get to the door, Yamamoto laughs and Gokudera pauses to make sure he's okay, since he's been silent for an entire five minutes.

"So you were _jealous_?" he asks in awe, like it's taken him this long to figure it out. Perhaps it has, and maybe the cobwebs covering his alcohol and lust addled brain have finally been cleared. Not so much the same for Gokudera, who thinks he's beginning to feel the effects of the five whiskey doubles he shot down in the space of an hour or two.

Gokudera snorts and reaches for the front doors to open them himself after eyeing down the doorman indignantly. "Next time, learn to fucking dance _without _putting your greedy fucking hands all over people." He glowers at Yamamoto who laughs and nods his head amiably.

"Also, you'd do well to remember who you belong to," Gokudera repeats, nipping at Yamamoto's ear once they're clear of any onlookers. He feels him shudder, still sensitive from moments earlier and when he collects himself, Yamamoto lifts a listless hand and rubs at the red welt on his throat.

"Yeah," he says whimsically, while the smile on his face spreads so wide it stretches out the scar on his chin. "I don't think I'll ever forget that."


End file.
